


Head Full Of Straw

by rowanstrange



Category: The Two Princes (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanstrange/pseuds/rowanstrange
Summary: Immediately upon entering the entrance hall, both boys picked up the sound of a familiar voice growing louder. A voice that made Amir freeze in his tracks and both princes frantically scan the hall in panic for a place to hide.“Amir? Rupert? Are you back? We’re way behind on wedding planning boys, we still have to decide on the cake, wedding outfits, the reception menu-”“There!” Amir hissed, grabbing Rupert’s hand and dragging him into a large wardrobe. He tossed his fiance inside, herded in the dog and dragon, and squeezed himself flush against the back before pulling the doors closed. Porridge immediately settled his large head against Amir’s thigh, rumbling silently.“Shush Fitz!” Rupert begged as the terrier began to whine. Amir quickly picked him up and pressed the squirming pup against Rupert’s chest, where he began to settle. His wagging tail continually smacked Amir in the shoulder, but as Lavinia’s voice came ever closer, he decided the trade was fair to avoid his future mother-in-law for a few minutes more.





	1. If I Only Had A Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately upon entering the entrance hall, both boys picked up the sound of a familiar voice growing louder. A voice that made Amir freeze in his tracks and both princes frantically scan the hall in panic for a place to hide.
> 
> “Amir? Rupert? Are you back? We’re way behind on wedding planning boys, we still have to decide on the cake, wedding outfits, the reception menu-”
> 
> “There!” Amir hissed, grabbing Rupert’s hand and dragging him into a large wardrobe. He tossed his fiance inside, herded in the dog and dragon, and squeezed himself flush against the back before pulling the doors closed. Porridge immediately settled his large head against Amir’s thigh, rumbling silently.
> 
> “Shush Fitz!” Rupert begged as the terrier began to whine. Amir quickly picked him up and pressed the squirming pup against Rupert’s chest, where he began to settle. His wagging tail continually smacked Amir in the shoulder, but as Lavinia’s voice came ever closer, he decided the trade was fair to avoid his future mother-in-law for a few minutes more.

On any day that the lazy afternoon sun warmed the loamy soil of the Heartland Meadow, and coupled with unhurried wisps of clouds speckling the azure sky, Amir would know exactly where he could find his fiance and their pet dragon. Rupert had quickly taken to the open landscape where the cursed forest had once overrun the countryside, delighting in the expansive spaces for sprinting with a rapidly growing Porridge. Over the past month since the Prince of the East and the Prince of the West announced their engagement, much of their time was eaten up juggling both the construction of their new castle and planning the grandest wedding the two kingdoms had ever witnessed. Just one major life change would be enough for anyone, but the combination left both princes weary and worn on an almost daily basis.

Amir was never one to shirk his duties; his people always came before his own needs, a lesson drilled into him since he took his first wobbling steps as a child. He had never resented it, always gave his all without a word of complaint. Amir understood a prince was more of a servant to his kingdom than any page or maid in his employ, and he executed his duties with the expected amount of discipline and aplomb.

If his mother could see him now, she may very well tear his ear off.

Skidding to a halt on the packed dirt floor, leather boots squealing from the friction, Amir darted around the corner of the entrance hall and dashed for the heavy wooden door. He managed to drag it open enough to slip through just before he heard the voice of his future mother-in-law begin to echo in the timber lined hall.

“Amir, you get back here! We still have to pick out the flowers for lining the halls for the ceremony, and we are _not_ using butterfly weed”

The door slid closed with a solid _bang_ behind Amir as he continued sprinting away from the temporary motte keep, making his way down the wooden bridge and out of the bailey gates to race down the hill frosted with daisies at full speed. He could vaguely hear Lavinia calling for him from a distance, but he knew he was home free. She still felt uneasy traipsing in the meadow where the two bloodthirsty kings met their end in the hungry earth, and while normally Amir would feel guilty about using those feelings to evade her, today was just too much for him to care.

The Eastern prince finally slowed to a loping trot past the next hill, breathing out a cleansing sigh as he spotted the partially obscured grove of pomegranate trees Rupert discovered weeks ago while taking Porridge and Fitzroy for a walk. He could already hear the snuffling of an adolescent dragon coupled with the quiet giggles of a Western prince just around the next row of trees.

“Porridge, we talked about this! If you eat too many daisies you’re going to star spewing that blue fire again, now knock it off!” A sudden cacophony of fiery growls and perturbed barks broke out at the prince’s order. “No Fitzroy, you can’t have any either, what you’ll do is almost worse than blue fire.” Two sets of whining now, bringing a twitch to Amir’s lips. “Stop pulling the double puppy dog eyes, I’m not giving-”

“Leave your mother alone, boys,” Amir chuckled, stepping out from his hiding place. “Last thing we need is another epic freakout like the library incident.”

Rupert turned around and glared at his fiance, hazel eyes narrowed in mock irritation. “The ‘library incident’, as you call it, was a completely reasonable and mature response to an assassination attempt on my good character.” 

“You threatened to throw the librarian into the dungeons.”

“She said I was late returning my books! I’m _NEVER_ late bringing back my books! It was clearly an attempt to discredit me in front of the rest of the kingdom and tear apart our new alliance.”

“She was ninety-four. She misread the date. And you ranted and raved at her about ‘innocent until proven guilty’ and ‘no taxation without representation’.”

“Both points were valid.”

“But irrelevant. I had to throw you over my shoulder before she tripled your one copper fine.”

“I still say you should have let me jump the counter, I could have taken her.” Rupert’s nose wrinkled in challenge, drawing Amir’s focus to counting the freckles lining the bridge. So far the count was always fourteen, but Amir was nothing if not a man dedicated to a task.

“Yes, my people would be overjoyed at the incredibly bravery and cunning of their new prince single-handedly taking down the greatest geriatric foe the Heartland has ever seen-”

And now his mouth was too busy to continue teasing his fiance, the same fiance that apparently had gotten bored of the conversation and decided his lips could be put to better use.

He always knew Rupert was the smarter of the two of them.

Amir pulled away, running his cool, bronze hand through Rupert’s fine, chestnut locks. “Cheating,” he murmured huskily, dusting light pecks across those beloved freckles. He took his time and covered the speckled skin from one cheekbone, across the warm bridge of Rupert’s nose, and back down the other cheek.

“You love it,” Rupert grinned, winding his hand through Amir’s curls and pulling his focus back to lips.

Yep, Rupert was most definitely the smarter one. All hail Prince Rupert, may he forever reign.

Kissing Rupert always felt like the first time in the Hollow, a warm swirling sensation in his stomach as velvet-soft lips yielded and surged in equal measure. Someday that sensation of fire wrapping around his heart and swelling warmth in his throat may fade. Maybe even kissing Rupert would become passe and as commonplace as pulling on his socks each morning. But right now, cupping Rupert’s cheek, feeling his fingers tighten and loosen in his hair with each inhale and sigh of exhale, Amir couldn’t imagine that day ever coming.

Reluctantly Rupert pulled away, sliding his tawny hand in Amir’s and tugging them both over to the base of one of the larger pomegranate trees. Both princes sat down, unnoticed by the large pony-sized dragon and small spotted terrier, and stretched out their legs, cushioned by a grassy blanket.

“So I’m guessing Mom didn’t go for the butterfly weed?” Rupert’s voice held a grin, but Amir couldn’t see it for himself from his comfortable position of resting on Rupert’s shoulder. He hummed in agreement.

“Apparently they mean ‘leave me’ in the West. Who decided flowers needed meanings? Why can’t flowers just smell nice and look pretty, what’s the point of giving them personalities?”

“I tried to tell you.” Rupert’s fingers soothed the back of Amir’s neck, drawing out a grunt from the Eastern prince. “The only thing Mom ever drilled into me was flowers. Apparently it might have actually killed her if I sent someone a bouquet of yellow carnations, orange lilies, and petunias.”

“You were sending that many bouquets?”

“Nope, hardly ever, just to my aunts or cousins on birthdays. I think it’s because she was a florist before she married my dad.” 

Amir sighed. “Maybe you should take over the flowers. I don’t really have any strong feelings about them. As long as you’re there and I’m there, the rest is just pomp and circumstance.” He stirred from his revelry by the feeling of a large, rough tongue lapping at his palm. Porridge nudged his large plum-colored head under Amir’s arm, golden eyes wide and demanding attention.

“Okay buddy, I see you,” Amir chuckled, scratching the dragon under his scaly chin. Porridge did his best impression of a cat’s purr with a soft, rumbling growl. His black slitted pupils expanded into round orbs before they slowly closed in contentment and he settled his head on Amir’s lap.

The two princes sat in the pomegranate grove for hours just like that, quiet and content, with their pets dozing in the warm spring sunlight. It wasn’t until the sun began to dip behind the horizon that Amir’s stomach let out an undignified growl, startling Fitzroy awake with a bleary blink.

“Yeah, I think we’ve played hooky enough for today,” Rupert sighed, gently dislodging Porridge from his legs and Amir from his lap. “Time to go back to the keep, guys.”

One dog, one dragon, and one prince grumbled their objections, but soon rose from the ground, dusted themselves off, and began to head back to their temporary home on the hill. 

The castle proper would take about a year to complete. Normally it would take ten times as long, but thanks in no small part to a gift from Lavinia of a book of construction spells that rendered huge slabs of stone virtually weightless, and a gift from Atossa of a wooden machine as tall as a tower that could lift the stone with only two people operating it, they could expect to move into the new Castle of the Heartland before their nineteenth birthday. But for now, in order to establish their new combined kingdom, they had a quick wooden motte built on a hill overlooking a tiny village of servants and knights from both kingdoms. It was a big transition for both kingdoms and both royal families, but so far most had embraced the new alliance. Neither prince believed this peace would last forever, but for now they were grateful for the chance to just focus on each other and their people.

The two boys chatted away as they entered the main gate and strolled through the bailey. They waved at Sir Percy who sat in deep conversation outside the stables with Sir Romesh, the Eastern Kingdom’s head knight. The first time Rupert met the grizzled bear of a man he had been beyond terrified. 

_Sir Romesh had been at the forefront of the Great War beside his king, losing both his left leg and right eye in the bloodshed. His ochre skin, exposed at the neck and face while in full armor, sported an intricate webbing of scars that wove a story of loss that Rupert couldn’t even fathom._

_But Sir Romesh had surprised the quaking prince, slapping his barrel of a hand on the shaking man’s shoulder while bellowing with glee. “Ah hah hah, good to meet ya lad! Amir chose a pretty one, much prettier than ‘im!” Amir had flushed and shoved at the old knight’s arm good-naturedly. “But honestly lad,” the knight lowered his head to lessen the distance between himself and the prince, a full foot. “Any great man can be willing to fight for his kingdom. But it takes a good man to be willing to die for his people.” The giant knight stood and dropped to his armor-clad knee in front of a bemused Rupert and a beaming Amir. “I am proud to serve yer new kingdom, but honored to serve good men.”_

_“Still so dramatic old man,” Amir teased, but Rupert could see his eyes looked brighter than usual._

_“Ah hah hah, shut up ya insolent pup,” Sir Romesh grinned around his thick salt and pepper beard. “Or yeh’ll not be getting what I brought ya.”_

_Rupert, practically glowing red from the quirky knight’s speech, found his arms weighed down with mountains of soft wool and his head covered with yet more. Amir similarly found himself weighed down with fluffy pieces, and a peek from Rupert showed his head covered with a deep blue cap._

_“Started on these as soon as yer mum told me about the wedding,” Romesh boomed, slapping both boys on the back and sending them stumbling forward. “Used me best sheep fer these!”_

_Rupert inspected the soft bundle in his arms and found he was holding a few pounds’ worth of knitted items. Wool dyed in his kingdom’s signature colors, silver and blue, and knitted in intricate patterns into a blanket as big as a tapestry, a scarf, the hat on his head, mittens, and a large shawl._

_“Whoa, you knit?” Rupert finally managed to squeak out, running his hands over the downy texture of the blanket._

_“Aye lad, that I do! Keeps the fingers nimble for training, and it’s just a nice way to wind down the day,” Romesh blared, radiating pride._

_“And he raises his own special breed of sheep just for it,” Amir added. “Spins his own wool and everything.”_

_“Wow, a knitting knight! Neat!” Rupert grinned up at the knight, who barked out a laugh and slapped his back again, almost sending him sprawling on the floor except for Amir’s quick thinking._

_“Amir, this one’s too good fer ya! Welcome to the fold lad!”_

Sir Romesh waved back at the boys before continuing his discussion with Sir Percy. True to his word, Romesh treated Rupert with the same affection as Amir and regularly presented the prince with the results of his secondary craft. Half of Rupert’s wardrobe now consisted of shawls, coats, jackets, mittens, and caps in a rainbow of patterns and colors.

They made their way up the flying bridge across the scarp, waving at the guards at the gate while Porridge and Fitzroy trotted contentedly a few paces ahead. The keep rose above them, a three story, stocky building that for now they called home. It was a nice enough place, but they both agreed they would be relieved when the more sturdy stone castle finished completion next year.

Immediately upon entering the entrance hall, both boys picked up the sound of a familiar voice growing louder. A voice that made Amir freeze in his tracks and both princes frantically scan the hall in panic for a place to hide.

“Amir? Rupert? Are you back? We’re way behind on wedding planning boys, we still have to decide on the cake, wedding outfits, the reception menu-”

_“There!”_ Amir hissed, grabbing Rupert’s hand and dragging him into a large wardrobe. He tossed his fiance inside, herded in the dog and dragon, and squeezed himself flush against the back before pulling the doors closed. Porridge immediately settled his large head against Amir’s thigh, rumbling silently.

_“Shush Fitz!”_ Rupert begged as the terrier began to whine. Amir quickly picked him up and pressed the squirming pup against Rupert’s chest, where he began to settle. His wagging tail continually smacked Amir in the shoulder, but as Lavinia’s voice came ever closer, he decided the trade was fair to avoid his future mother-in-law for a few minutes more.

“Ugh, those boys! Typical to leave _me_ to do all the heavy lifting for this wedding,” Lavinia groused. “Fine, you’re both going down that aisle in _ruffles_ and eating coconut creme wedding cake, just watch me!” The princes glanced at each other in terror, and Rupert opened his mouth before another voice joined Lavinia.

“Good evening, your Majesty.”

“Oh Joan, have you seen either of the princes? They’ve been playing hooky all afternoon, not surprising. They’re menaces on their own, but together they’re impossible.” Amir smothered a giggle as Rupert kissed his cheek in pride.

“No, I’m sorry your Majesty, I haven’t. I was actually going to ask you if you had seen Prince Rupert, I needed to go over security details for the festival on Thursday.” Amir glanced at Rupert, who shrugged sheepishly.

“Well it’s probably for the best he skipped out, Joan. Rupert has many admirable qualities, a stunning dancer, a charming smile, but military strategy really isn’t his forte.”

Amir felt Rupert slowly stiffen with every word his mother spoke. Amir tried to grab Rupert’s unoccupied hand to squeeze it, to reassure him, but in the dark and tight space it was almost impossible to find.

“I’m not sure what you mean, your Majesty. I thought Rupert did more than admirably in the Hollow…”  
  


“Yes, but he had _Amir_ to protect him. I love my son, but Rupert wouldn’t have made it nearly as far if Amir hadn’t been there to save him. That’s what makes them such a wonderful pair; Amir can do the heavy lifting and Rupert will support him and be the charming face for the people.”

Rupert was completely still beside Amir now, barely taking in a breath. With every bone in his body, Amir wanted to bust out of that wardrobe and tear Lavinia to shreds. Did she not _know_ how amazing her son was? Did she not realize that they would have failed their mission in the Hollow or even _died_ at the hands of Barnabas if Rupert hadn’t kept a calm head? Did she not understand how _amazing_ Rupert was in everything he did.

How could she _not see?_

“I suppose you’re right, your Majesty,” Joan sighed, making Rupert recoil, pushing himself further into the corner of the wardrobe. Amir leaned his side as heavily as he could against the silent prince, trying to offer any kind of comfort even as his hand clenched into a tight fist. “I’ll talk to Prince Amir about the security detail for the festival.”

“And I’ll drag Prince Rupert to finish planning for this wedding, even if I have to hog tie him to his throne… again,” Lavinia chirped happily. “Let’s find Atossa, perhaps she’s seen them.”

The voices began to fade until all that remained was silence, a silence thick enough it vibrated around the two princes. Amir quietly opened the wardrobe, offering his hand to help Rupert out but received an armful of squirming Fitzroy instead. Porridge leapt out, scaly tail wagging as he tried to lick Rupert’s hand, but the boy pulled his hand away.

Amir’s chest felt too tight, too hot, and too terrifying. He could feel Rupert pulling away from him even as he stood not two paces away. He lowered the ecstatic dog to the floor and tried to pull Rupert to him, but the freckled boy stepped away, wrapping his arms around himself.

Rupert could barely breathe. His heart felt cracked, small slivers slowly falling into a dark chasm. The same chasm that had always been there, telling him he could never be good enough, could never be a real leader, a _real_ hero. His mother’s words only confirmed what the aching, hollow place in his mind always sang to him when he was alone:

_You’re too stupid._

“I need…” Rupert’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. How had he ever spoken before this? Were words supposed to feel like they tangled impossibly around teeth, too taught to leave the lips?

“Rupert, she’s wrong, she’s so _impossibly wrong_.” The warmth of Amir’s hands cupped Rupert’s ashen face, dragging his eyes to meet the dark depths of the Eastern prince’s. “Listen to me, you’re _nothing_ like what she said, you’re so much-”

“I need some time alone,” Rupert gasped, pulling away from the stricken look of his fiance, stumbling away down the hall. Amir called out to him again, but it sounded so far away, echoing quietly against the louder screams in his ears.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Rupert swallowed thickly against the stone that seemed to have lodged in his throat, eyes searing and wet as he lumbered down the hall.

_Stupid. Stupid._

_Stupid._


	2. And Perhaps I'd Deserve You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally books were his escape, a way to forget about anything that troubled him. From his first inkling that ladies held no appeal for him to the realization that his kingdom would soon fall prey to the encroaching forest, Rupert found solace in books. Whether that peace came from distraction or the pursuit of an answer to a seemingly unsolvable problem, he always depended on books to provide that quieting influence for his mind.
> 
> But this time, that peace slipped through his grasp. His mind rewound the recording of his mother’s words, her careless callousness over and over again. How little she thought of his abilities as a prince, as a future king.
> 
> Stupid.
> 
> He’d always known Lavinia dismissed him; a constant point of frustration in his childhood, but a scab he ceased trying to pick at over time. Eventually he just gave up trying to impress her or advocate for himself; at fourteen he began drowning himself in drink and parties. For three years he spent more time nursing the sickly ache of hangovers than clear-headed, trying to numb the emptiness in his chest.
> 
> And my head, apparently.
> 
> Rupert growled, burying his head in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of past alcoholism.

Over the next three days, Rupert disappeared entirely from life in the keep. Amir searched for him everywhere, from the sweltering kitchens on the ground floor all the way up to the bedchambers on the third floor. He even picked apart the grove, looking under every pomegranate tree and in every daisy patch. None of the villagers in the bailey below the keep had seen the quirky prince, although all agreed to let Amir know if they happened to spot him. The prince of the West never appeared at meals, and the only thing keeping Amir from flying into a full-blown panic were the slightly mussed sheets in Rupert’s room.

Lavinia seemed none the wiser that Rupert had essentially vanished. Amir kept her at bay with excuses of Rupert being taken with a cold and requesting to be left to rest in his bedchamber. She seemed to take it in stride and suggested to the servants to have his favorite soup, chicken and rice, sent up with some tea. Amir half hoped he would find it empty, but each evening the food lay cold until Porridge slurped and licked the vessels clean.

On the third day, at his wit’s end, Amir paced the entrance hall in a frenzy. His leather boots thunked solidly against the wooden floor while he ran his hands through his curls. Both Porridge and Fitzroy watched from their perch on the floor near the empty suits of armor, heads following the distraught prince, large eyes forlorn. They missed their funny human and his laughter and belly scratches, though Amir tried his best to give them both extra attention. But he wasn’t Rupert, and right now he felt completely alone, painfully aware of the void in his ribs and the cold draft in his lungs.

Was this what life had been like before Rupert? How had he _survived_?

Amir flinched as a weight landed on his shoulder. He turned, a sharp word balanced on the tip of his tongue, but quickly felt the fire die at the sight of Atossa.

“Amir.” Just one word from his mother, and like always, Amir crumpled. His princely bearing sagged, and the weariness in his eyes lost the shroud of duty that kept its presence from the world. The hand on his shoulder lifted to his cheek, tilting the boy’s head down to face his petite mother’s gaze head-on.

All his life, Amir looked to Atossa for strength, guidance, and wisdom. With no father, Atossa served as the center of his world, a world built on the structures of duty and selflessness. Normally, she was the first one he approached with his troubles, but in this… His relationship with Rupert seemed so new, so fragile, as stunning as a butterfly and just as delicate. It didn’t seem right to ask those outside their small bubble comprised of princes, dragon, and canine. This new, fluttering family of theirs, the core of an entire new kingdom they were building, _together_ , it felt too soon and too perilous to bring others into their world.

But now Amir had no idea what steps to take next. Relationships were never his strong suit, and he had no backlog of anecdotes or memories filled with experience to fall back on. He and Rupert, this was their first… well, it couldn’t qualify as a fight, but it was their first dark _something_ . All Amir knew is that the boy who sucked his heart in with a teasing grin couldn’t smile now. Rupert felt pain, and that pain made Amir feel pain, and Amir was so _useless_ because he couldn’t even find his boy to make the pain stop!

Amir wanted to tell his mother all of this. He even opened his mouth, hoping the words dribbled out on their own. But the bitter worry clogged his throat, trapping his fears just behind his tonsils and swelling with a sickly ache.

Atossa’s unfathomably dark eyes softened, stroking her thumb over Amir’s cold cheek. “My son,” she soothed softly, framing his broken face with her hands. Amir leaned into that maternal solidity, suddenly feeling his neck didn’t have the strength to keep his head upright on its own. “My boy, is there shame in asking for directions when one is lost?” Reluctantly, Amir shook his head. “Then feel no shame in asking for assistance now, my love.” Atossa gently led the quiet prince to an ornate wooden bench, sitting beside her son and drawing his still hands into her own.

“Now speak, Amir. Let me help you.”

The words that dammed behind his tongue now flowed freely. Amir told his mother about the afternoon their tiny family spent in the grove, how happy they were to just be together in the world. He told her about hiding in the hall, listening as Lavinia dismissed her own son to the Knight Champion. He told her how unmoored and unsettled he felt, unable to find Rupert to offer any kind of comfort or reassure the love of his life of his absolute perfection, his unbelievable strength and cleverness that saved them time and time again. How much his presence just _blinded_ Amir with its brilliance.

How lost Amir felt without him.

Atossa listened to her normally stoic son, heart warming at the unintentional poetry he wove in his speech, a true declaration of his devotion to his prince. When he grew quiet once more, hands trembling slightly between his mother’s, she sighed.

“I know this will be hard to understand, but I would not judge Lavinia too harshly for her words.” Amir’s head shot up, an angry flush creeping up his neck. He opened his mouth to retort, but Atossa cut off his tirade with one raised, regal palm. “I am not agreeing with her, my son, far from it. Rupert may not have had the strict regime I gave you during your childhood, but it takes so much more than scientific equations and reciting law to be a prince.” The queen of the East gave her son a small smile and patted his cheek. “He completes you in every way you complete him, and I could not be prouder of the men you are both becoming.”

Atossa rose, holding out a hand to Amir. “Let me take over the search for your wayward love, my son. There is a planning meeting for the Festival of May with Lavinia in half an hour. I suggest you take a deep breath and join her in Rupert’s stead.”

Amir wanted to argue. The last thing he felt he could handle today would be a meeting with Lavinia, who he managed to be coolly cordial to since Rupert’s disappearance. But he also knew how much this festival meant to Rupert; only last week he had waxed rhapsodic about the specialty of the festival, a layered fried pastry known as the _doussant_ , covered in soft white sugar and drizzled with honey. The Western prince looked forward to this festival every year, and he had practically vibrated with excitement at spending their first festival together as a couple.

No, he needed to make sure this festival lived up to Rupert’s expectations, even if he wasn’t there to oversee the preparations. Damn it all.

“Fine,” Amir groused, standing from the bench. “I’ll go to the meeting. But if you find him, will you-”

“I’ll find you immediately, Amir,” Atossa promised, nudging the doubtful prince down the hall. “I’ll begin looking right now, I swear.”

With one last look brimming with skepticism, Amir nodded and made his way down the hall, trailed with a trotting terrier and a loping dragon.

Atossa let out a breath, smoothing the wrinkles from her gown. She quickly tracked down one of the footmen in the servant’s quarters, preparing flower arrangements for the festival.

“Prepare my carriage, if you please,” she instructed. “We’re going to the Castle of the West.”

  
  


_Stupid._

Rupert’s fingers clenched around the hard woven cover of the book in his lap. He tightened his jaw and continued running his gaze over the printed text, absorbing none of the words.

_Stupid._

The prince took a deep breath through his nose, bringing the weathered tome closer to his face. The scent of well-loved stories filled his nostrils as he stubbornly forced the ringing refrain in his mind away with literary proximity.

_Stupid._

“Ugh!” Rupert slammed the book closed, tossing it to the top of his “books that aren’t drowning out my insecurities” pile of discards. That pile continued to grow ever larger with each day he spent away from the Heartland, and now on the third day numbered close to sixty different texts. Rupert tried every genre from romance to scientific journals to dictionaries, but nothing drowned out the roaring in his head.

_Stupid._

He pulled his legs to his chest, curling himself into a small, regal ball of despair on the floor of the royal library. He rested his cheek on his bicep, hazel gaze unfocused on a point in the distance.

Normally books were his escape, a way to forget about anything that troubled him. From his first inkling that ladies held no appeal for him to the realization that his kingdom would soon fall prey to the encroaching forest, Rupert found solace in books. Whether that peace came from distraction or the pursuit of an answer to a seemingly unsolvable problem, he always depended on books to provide that quieting influence for his mind.

But this time, that peace slipped through his grasp. His mind rewound the recording of his mother’s words, her careless callousness over and over again. How little she thought of his abilities as a prince, as a future king.

_Stupid._

He’d always known Lavinia dismissed him; a constant point of frustration in his childhood, but a scab he ceased trying to pick at over time. Eventually he just gave up trying to impress her or advocate for himself; at fourteen he began drowning himself in drink and parties. For three years he spent more time nursing the sickly ache of hangovers than clear-headed, trying to numb the emptiness in his chest.

_And my head, apparently_.

Rupert growled, burying his head in his arms.

Lavinia never noticed his lack of coherency during those years, too busy throwing parties and keeping the people reasonably content to notice her son’s continuous spiral into more and more drink. It finally came to a head on his seventeenth birthday, surrounded by vacuous lords and ladies and feeling similar vacuum in his chest, when he completely blacked out on the dance floor.

Then his mother noticed her son had a problem.

Rupert sighed, stretching out his legs and leaning his head against the rough stone wall. Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame his mother for his drinking problem. But he felt like that young kid again, itching to make a real difference and hand trembling for a drink to make himself feel less worthless. His fingers twitched even now, a year sober.

“May I join you?”

Rupert started at the low voice, blinking up at his soon to be mother-in-law. Atossa smiled as he lurched to his feet, patting off the dust from aged novels from his trousers.

“N-no, of course not, your Majesty. Please, sit.” Rupert quickly moved a heavy stack of historical periodicals from a chair at the table he ignored using for the past three days. Atossa lowered herself into the worn and dusty chair with all the regal bearing one would expect from a queen in her throne room. She smiled and patted the other chair beside her.

“Sit with me, beautiful boy.” The prince flushed and gingerly lowered himself into the chair, stomach hot with nerves about what he knew she wanted to talk about.

The queen didn’t begin to speak right away. Her dark eyes seemed far away for a few moments, seeing something beyond Rupert even though her gaze rested on his anxious face. She blinked slowly and her eyes sharpened again.

“I was not a very good mother to Amir.”

This was definitely not the opening Rupert had been expecting. He opened his mouth to object, but a motherly warning of a glare forced him to snap it shut with an audible _pop_.

Amir’s mother sighed. “For over eighteen years, ever since Amir’s father ran off to the woods to battle your kingdom, I have been nothing but terrified. Terrified that the curse would swallow my people whole. Terrified that the prophecy would mean my son would someday be slain by a stranger in the forest.” Here Atossa’s ring finger twitched, the only betrayal of the darkness swirling behind her eyes. Rupert, chest heavy with lead, tentatively reached over and placed his hand over hers, squeezing in quiet reassurance.

Atossa started, giving the ginger prince a small smile of gratitude. “But,” she continued, “The thing that truly kept me awake night after night, even beyond the possibility that I would lose my son…” She swallowed with a grunt, forcing the words past her stubborn lips, “is that my son would live… and become the same cruel, bloodthirsty tyrant his father eventually became.”

Rupert’s intake of breath stuttered loudly, not quite a gasp in the gaping silence that followed. Atossa gave a heartbreaking smile, patting his hand holding hers.

“When Amir was born, the day the curse began, I held this tiny bundle of squalling baby in my arms. And as much as I was overwhelmingly, _impossibly_ in love with this tiny creature who just exploded into my life, nothing in this world had ever frozen my soul with fear like that child.” Atossa inhaled loudly, her eyes glistening with tormented truth.

“Until he met you, I’ve been afraid of my own son. Afraid of Amir becoming a monster.”

Before the brimming tears could spill over onto ashen cheeks, Rupert surged forward. He nudged Atossa forward into his arms, surprised at how the queen seemingly made of steel felt so tiny in his arms. She sank into his embrace, and if there was a spot of moisture on his neck when they parted, neither acknowledged it.

Atossa sighed, gently swiping at the corners of her eyes. “Amir’s father pulled me in with his honey words and impressed a star-struck girl with his quick wit and cunning mind. But after we wed, I soon learned his true nature. He had little use for me except as a broodmare, and once Lavinia and I were both bearing heirs, your father and Amir’s felt free to wage their campaigns of slaughter.

“I decided the day Amir was born that he would never become like his father. I refused to think of any other outcome than he would succeed and become the king his people believed he could be. And I didn’t let him see any other outcome, either. I prepared him in every way I could, isolating him in a bubble of duty and study. No one would ever best my son in combat or in intellect. He would _always_ succeed, no matter the cost.”

The prince of the West had not spoken since the queen began her tale. He listened, heart wrenching open as he poured hers into his ears, body tense and poised on the edge of the chair. But now he sighed, sitting heavily back, his expression shuttered and defeated.

“And he did,” he said quietly. “Amir is everything you wanted him to be. He’s smart, he’s strong, he’s brave, he’s everything a prince _should_ be.” Rupert looked away, his eyes burning from the strain of keeping in broken tears. “And I… I’m just the pretty bauble on his arm. I can’t be the kind of king our people need or the partner he deserves, and everyone knows it. Everyone knows I’m too _stupid_ to be a real king, and they’re relieved that Amir will be there so I don’t trip over my own feet!”

Rupert’s voice rose from a tired whisper to an anguished bellow during his tirade, the dam holding tears at bay finally succumbing to the weight of his pain. Wet tracks snaked down freckled cheeks as the prince hiccuped and gasped for air between his sobs, burying his face in his trembling palms.

Several heartbeats passed, the only sounds echoing in the library were Rupert’s wet sniffles. Rupert desperately tried to compose himself in front of his future mother-in-law, scrubbing at his damp eyes hastily. He raised his head and almost recoiled in his chair at the look of fury that crossed the face of the Queen of the East, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what had angered her so. Rupert opened his mouth to apologize, but Atossa quickly coldly cut him off.

“How dare you.” Atossa’s accented tone sliced through Rupert, and he shrank back in his chair in fear. The queen rose from her own seat and stalked to him, grabbing his trembling chin, and forcing him to look straight into her inferno gaze. “How dare you insult those that I love,” she continued in a deep growl.

Rupert gaped in confusion. “What?! But I didn’t insult Amir! Didn’t you hear me? I said he-”

“You have _insulted_ , _disrespected_ , and _belittled_ my loved ones, Prince Rupert the First,” the queen hissed. “You have blatantly defiled the virtues of the future King of the Heartland and questioned his worth of the title. Moreover, you have spat upon my family, and it _will not stand_.”

Rupert had braved psychedelic mushrooms and man-eating plants, “ridiculously quick” quicksand, hungry giant spiders, and a fight to the death with the man he loved. But never before had he actually been so sure that his life was about to be extinguished than he did right now, facing the livid Queen Atossa.

“I didn’t say anything about Amir, I _love_ him! I don’t understand-”

“You have slandered my future son, a beautiful boy who will one day be one of the greatest kings this realm has ever known.” Rupert stilled, his heart pounding in his ears as the queen continued. “And no one, not even that _incredible_ , _clever_ , and _loving_ boy himself will be permitted to disparage my loved one.” Her eyes softened here as the steel grip on Rupert’s grip slackened. She smoothed his frazzled hair and cupped his cheek in her hand. Rupert watched her carefully, hazel eyes broken but hopeful.

“I told you the story of Amir’s father and his childhood for a reason, beautiful boy.” Atossa smiled, gripping Rupert’s hands once more. “I won’t claim to speak for Lavinia, just as she would never speak for me. But truly, only a mother that has spent her life afraid for and _of_ her child could truly understand the desperation that drives you. I didn’t just push my son, I _drove_ him to unreasonable levels of perfection to protect him, and left him desperately wanting for the simplest of desires every child craves: companionship. I suspect that perhaps your mother may have made similar ill-conceived decisions driven by those fears.”

Rupert had never really considered the strain his mother had suffered since the beginning of the curse. He had never really thought about having to face the world your husband had shattered, raising a child that could very well either be the salvation or destruction of the tenuous peace of an entire kingdom. All he had ever thought about in regards to his mother was exasperated fondness and the monotony of party after party, dance after dance, being paraded around like a trained animal for the amusement of the kingdom.

But perhaps… perhaps Lavinia had driven him as far in the opposite direction as Atossa with Amir. If he was too carefree, too occupied with having a good time, he could never become the cold-blooded killer his father dreamed he would be. His stomach churned, not particularly caring for either outcome for himself: empty-headed party prince or blood-soaked warlord.

“But again, I do not speak for Lavinia,” Atossa said softly. “You will have to speak to her to find those answers for yourself.”

Rupert hesitated, but pressed on with the question pulsing on his lips. “But what if I don’t like the answers?”

Atossa smiled sadly, bending down to press a warm kiss to Rupert’s forehead. “Then you trust in your own judgement of Amir, and his in you. My son suffers no fool, and would never have chosen one to be his only love.” She held out her hand, beckoning him to reach out and clasp it.

“Now, there is a certain prince who has been missing his beloved for many days, beautiful boy. What say we return to the keep so he can stop pacing a new moat in the hall?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now going to be a 4-parter because I ended up writing WAAAY more than I thought for this scene.


	3. My Heart All Full Of Pain

That evening, Amir dined with his soon to be mother-in-law, his mother, but no Rupert. He shot anxious glances at Atossa across the long banquet table, who merely sipped her cream of asparagus soup with composure and ease.

It hadn’t been easy to keep Lavinia from storming up to Rupert’s room that day to check on him herself. Amir had insisted that they needed to nail down the flower arrangements that day, surprising the Queen of the West with his sudden turnaround in attitude. She delighted in dragging the prince to the royal florist, and they spent the rest of the afternoon well into the evening discussing the virtues of amaryllis versus lilies and birds of paradise in comparison to larkspur. The entire event passed in a heavily perfumed haze for Amir, whose only consolation lay in the fervent hope that his fiance would finally appear after days of hiding.

A hope which now felt dashed when faced with the chair across the table, once again lacking a particular Rupert.

They continued their meal, Atossa keeping Lavinia occupied as she prattled on about the wedding arrangements. The Queen of the East excelled in diplomacy, so keeping her Western counterpart engaged with small prods and pokes here and there of meaningless conversation kept the other from commenting on Amir’s quiet and despondent countenance. Finally the evening repast ended, and Amir feigned a headache in order to facilitate his escape to hunt down his love himself.

Atossa, seeing through Amir’s flimsy excuse, took him aside after Lavinia bid them goodnight. She could feel Amir’s anxious energy and irritation at being kept from his fiance, and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I found him today,” she soothed softly, cupping Amir’s cheek. “He will find you tonight. He just needed some more time to center himself, he said.”

Amir’s heart stuttered, his dark and troubled eyes widening at his mother’s words. She had found Rupert, and he was  _ coming back _ . Most likely he already found his way into the castle and was waiting for Amir. He could be upstairs in his room,  _ right now _ , and Amir was just standing and blinking at his mother dumbly.

“Thank you Mother!” Amir gasped, crushing his mother’s significantly smaller frame in a hug that any octopus could only aspire to. “Thank you!”

Atossa sputtered, unused to such an emotional display from her child, and could only blink in bewilderment as Amir sprinted away, taking the staircase to the upper levels three at a time.

“Well,” she chuckled, smoothing her ruffled hair away from her face. “That’s new.”

* * *

Amir skidded to a screeching halt outside of Rupert’s chambers, doubling over with hands on knees as he sucked in lungfuls of air. Finally, when he felt like he had his bearings again, he smoothed his lapels and knocked on the ornate wooden door.

“Rupert?”

Pause and wait.  _ One, two, three… _

No answer. Knock again.

“Rupert? It’s me, Amir. Actually, you probably know that, but I’d like to come in and talk to you, if that’s okay?”

Pause and wait.  _ One, two, three… _

No answer. Amir’s overly bright smile began to crack at the edges.

“Okay, I’m going to come in, just to make sure you’re alright.” He pushed open the door, his hand trembling on the knob, and stepped inside to see…

Nothing. 

Nothing at all.

No human presence existed in Rupert’s room, and by the stillness of the air and the still crisp lines of his bedding, he still hadn’t returned.

Rupert wasn’t here.

His mother was wrong.

Amir refused to acknowledge the searing pain behind his eyes as the room swam in his vision. He definitely didn’t acknowledge the sudden reflex of his foot to kick out, sending Rupert’s ottoman skidding across the floor. He didn’t really feel any better after that obvious paranormal attack by some random poltergeist with a vendetta against small furniture pieces. The thick and ugly stone lodged in his throat made it hard to breathe.

Rupert wasn’t coming back.

Amir stormed through the ensuite bathroom Rupert had insisted be installed between their rooms. While they still weren’t ready to share a room yet, he had wanted them to start getting used to sharing spaces together, outside of their duties as future Kings of the Heartland.

Amir hated everything about it now, especially that stupidly large soaking tub and those ridiculous dual vanities. He grit his teeth, trying in vain to ignore the moisture staining his cheeks, and shoved the door to his own bedroom open with a loud  _ crack _ .

Rupert, sitting on Amir’s bed, started at the banging door, hazel eyes wide and confused.

Amir stumbled over his own feet.

He was here.

_ Rupert _ .

“Yeah Amir, it’s me,” Rupert said softly, rising from the bed. “What’s going on-”

“ _ Where have you BEEN?!”  _ Amir didn’t even realize he spoke until the words were ripped from his grief-thickened throat. Rupert flinched, shuffling awkwardly in place as Amir shivered in anger.

“I’ve been covering for you for  _ three days _ !” Amir began pacing, running agitated hands through his hair. “I’ve been lying to everyone about how you’re sick, trying to give you space because I don’t know how to make any of this better! I don’t know how to comfort someone or tell them how they’re the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me and it doesn’t  _ matter _ if you know how to draw up laws or wield an axe because none of that matters!  _ You _ are the only thing that matters to me and you weren’t here-”

Amir paused his pacing as cool hands gripped his own, tugging gently from behind him. He allowed himself to be led, feeling suddenly drained and just so, so tired. His gaze remained locked on the wooden floors, ignoring the peek of brown boots in the top corner.

The cool hands slid to cup his cheeks, and more wetness spilled over Amir’s cheeks. He could feel the tension of uncertainty, of panic finally shattering inside his chest.

“You weren’t  _ here _ , and I don’t know how to do this without you anymore…”

Amir felt an enveloping warmth slide around his shoulders, and he finally collapsed. He slumped over, burying his face in that familiar freckled neck and breathing in the slightly powdery scent of Rupert’s favorite cologne.

They sank to the floor together, Rupert continuing to hold Amir in his warm grip. The Prince of the East sniffled into his fiance’s shoulder, finally raising his own arms to wrap around Rupert’s wait in a loose hold.

Rupert let out a shaky breath. “Amir, I am so,  _ so  _ sorry,” he said quietly, running his fingers through the curling hairs on Amir’s neck. “You were right, I did need the space. But I never should have left without talking to you, and definitely not without at least letting you know where I was.” He pulled back, framing Amir’s face and wincing at the boy’s broken expression.

Rupert sucked in another breath. “I keep forgetting that it’s not all about me anymore, that there’s someone else out there who needs me.” He pressed his forehead against Amir’s, tasting each of the shaky exhales that left plump lips. “It’s about  _ us  _ now, and I’m so incredibly sorry, Amir.” Rupert pressed his lips to Amir’s oh-so-gently then, waiting patiently for the trembling to soften. With a broken whimper Amir kissed back, clutching at Rupert like he was his last lifeline. 

The two princes stayed wrapped around each other for several long heartbeats, sharing the same breaths, one exhale to another inhale. Finally, Amir pulled away, swiping his palm against his wet cheeks and giving Rupert a shaky smile.

“I’m okay,” he said softly, tugging Rupert up from his knees on the floor and leading them to sit on Amir’s bed. “I’m sorry I snapped like that, we should be talking about you.”

“No Amir,” Rupert said firmly. “You needed to get that out, just like I needed space to figure out what was going on in my own head. But I meant what I said earlier.” He smiled, left dimple flashing in the low candlelight. “We’re a team now, forged in battle in the Hollow, future Kings of the Heartland, but more importantly,” he kissed Amir’s cheek, delighting in the light flush that followed, “we’re  _ partners _ , and going to be husbands soon. And that’s what I forgot, and I’m sorry. Again.”

Amir chuckled, voice still slightly raw from his earlier tirade. “Let’s make a deal: no more apologies tonight.” His red-rimmed eyes softened as he cupped Rupert’s cheek, searching his face. “But we do need to talk. Specifically about what your mom said.”

Rupert sighed, shifting over so his side lined up flush with Amir’s and leaned his head on the Eastern Prince’s shoulder. Amir waited patiently, giving Rupert as much time as he needed to collect his thoughts.

“I’ve always felt like an idiot.” Amir smothered the instinctive flinch at the harsh words. “I was never allowed to actually do anything productive for my kingdom. My mom would have me arrange parties and festivals, told me all the time ‘the people’s morale is the most important duty for a prince to maintain’.” He sighed, clutching at Amir’s hand between his own.

“I never felt like I had anything to contribute to the kingdom. I fought for a while, tried to make her teach me more about government and being a real leader. But each time she’d basically pat me on the head and schedule another party or soiree or whatever, and never really listened to me.

“Finally, I just gave up, and starting throwing myself into every party. I stopped caring about trying to be a good prince and…” he swallowed thickly, “I started drinking. Way too much.”

Amir smoothed his thumb over the back of Rupert’s hand, giving him the silent strength to go on. Rupert smiled at him sadly before continuing.

“It went on for a few years until I blacked out one too many times. The Chamberlain was called when I was unconscious on the floor, and of course my mother freaked out when she found out.

“She got me the best physicians and apothecaries to get me through detox, and I haven’t had a drink since. But deep down…” Rupert shuddered, clutching Amir’s hand even tighter. “I guess a part of me resented her for treating me like I had nothing to contribute, like I didn’t have anything useful to offer to my own kingdom except fancy parties.” He fell silent, brow furrowed.

Amir waited a few seconds before he squeezed Rupert’s hand. “Is there anything else?” he asked softly, sweeping Rupert’s downy hair away from his face. He could feel Rupert’s hesitation, could sense there was something else that he wasn’t voicing out loud.

“I…” Rupert swallowed and forged on. “Even though my drinking problem is my own problem, there’s still a part of me that… that blames her for it. Like maybe if she took me seriously even once, I wouldn’t have…” He choked on his own guilt and resentment, allowing himself to be pulled tighter to Amir’s side.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Amir murmured into his hair. “I’m so sorry for all of that. And I don’t know what the right thing to say here is, I really have no idea. But I’m  _ here _ , and I’ll be here anytime you want to talk.

“But something I need you to understand,” he continued softly, pressing a kiss to Rupert’s temple, “is that I’ve  _ never _ seen you as stupid. I’ve never thought you were just my arm candy or just a pretty face to rule with me. Rupert,” he forced his fiance to face him and tilted his chin to face him in the eyes, “I meant what I said earlier. I don’t know how to do this without you anymore. You’re as much a part of me as my hands or my feet. You’ve made me  _ better  _ by being you, every incredible part of you.”

Rupert shuddered, sniffling with a small hiccup as he tried to hold it in. But with another press of Amir’s gentle lips to his head, Rupert crumpled, and it was his turn to bury his face in Amir and sob his heartbreak.

Amir held him as patiently as Rupert had for him, murmuring words of love and deep devotion in his ear. 

“I love you, beyond anything I’ve ever known before,” he whispered as Rupert clutched him.

“And I love you,” Rupert gasped. 

Together, the two princes held each other,exhausted but reassured of their love, and just as importantly, the mutual respect they held for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> This came out WAY longer than I anticipated! I thought it would be a drabble, but looks like it's going to be a multi chapter fic! Let me know what you think, I'm a bit rusty getting back into writing after a few years.


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